was talking about future deadlines and april 26th was one of the proposed dates.....
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A well-timed pep talk got me wanting to practice my coloring skills again. Featuring AU AU Noir/White-Haired Noir.
Anyway, remember how I said the Dark Matter Blade left its scars on his body even after he was freed from it? And that Meta Knight and his pupil were able to bond over their "traditionally" monstrous looks?
This is what he looks like minus tunic & gloves.
(Also, like the Dark Matter Blade, the Rainbow Sword also provides him with :cough: "armor", but unlike the DM Blade, he can dismiss the armor and the sword when he doesn't need it.)
Speaking of, I'm thinking his acquisition of the sword was almost certainly tied to Dark Matter Painter. Mostly because it would be the most tragic option and this boy is a trauma-magnet.
(Maybe he finally finds "Adeleine" circa DL2's endgame, moments before succumbing to his artifact himself, his last words begging Kirby and the others not to hurt her, please. And at that moment, it's Painter's rainbow tears that save him and bring forth the blade, it's light purifying Noir at the cost of her own Dark Matter body...?)
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[Apologies AU]
“Apologies”
“One Sneeze”
“Summer”
“A Walk in the Snow”
“The Swordsman”
“Wonderful Gift”
"Damnation"
"Salvation"
[Bonus] “Ugly Scarf”
[Bonus] "That's...Funny..."
[Bonus] "Full Regalia" (DMS "Gijinka")
[Relevant] “Vestige” (script-only)
[Bonus] Noir Facts!
[Dark Matter Painter AU]
"It wasn't supposed to go this way...!"
"You're a good knight!"
"The Body Remembers" [You Are Here]
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happy new yuri everybody
this might be the sappiest thing ive ever written but idc the girlies deserve it. cheesy lovestruck joycetoria smoochies snippet to ring in the new year ok bye
The ground rises up to meet Victoria halfway, an embrace that still knocks the wind out of her. Someone somewhere laughs, and she isn‘t sure whether they‘re laughing with or at her, but when she goes to open her mouth to ask, she almost projectile-vomits all over the pavement instead. But only almost.
„Vicky,“ Joyce says, drunk enough, too, that it sounds more like a giggle than a word, and Victoria giggles too, carefree and high pitched like a teenager.
Vicky, she echoes under her breath, Vicky Vicky Vicky, only for her. Only for Joyce and her golden curls sticking in every direction, the lipstick smudged into her beard from the many times she‘s pressed her mouth to Victoria's skin already that evening. Lipstick on her teeth, too, and smeared all over Vicky‘s shoulders, pink like spring flowers. A mixture of cheese and alcohol and all those comforting Joyce smells that Victoria could drink.
Fuck, Vicky thinks, I love you so much, and she‘s drunk enough she doesn‘t notice that she‘s said it out loud until Joyce‘s strong freckled arms are dragging her up, saying I know. And she doesn‘t say it back, the love thing, but she doesn‘t have to—it‘s in the way she‘s holding Vicky and doesn‘t let go even when the risk of falling again has passed, the comforting squeeze of her shoulder, the way she‘s gently guiding her away from the crowd, a throng of people pouring out of Paddy‘s doors.
It seems like the New Year should still be hours away, and yet there’s so much anticipation in the air, it can’t be long now. When Victoria checks her watch, the numbers blur in front of her eyes, but before she can ask for the time, the crowd picks up the count and answers her question. 10 seconds to the new year, coming way too soon all of a sudden but somehow with less dread than she‘s used to.
9 seconds, 8, Joyce burying her face in the crook of Victoria‘s shoulder, where her jacket has almost slipped off. Still not letting go of her, and Victoria is glad for it, legs still wobbling in her highest pair of heels.
7, 6, 5, 4, the scratch of Joyce’s beard against Victoria‘s cheek, the earthy smell of dirt in her hair. This is what happiness feels like; the teeth of someone you love right on your jugular. Torn stockings and a scrape on her elbow and make up that must be melting off her face by now, and Victoria can‘t find it in herself to care.
3, 2, 1.
Victoria giggles as Joyce kisses her, once, square on the lips. Their teeth knock together as high above them the sky lights up in color, sparks shooting through the night. Behind them the crowd cheers, and even if Victoria knows it‘s not them they‘re cheering for, it still feels like it should be.
„Happy New Year,“ Joyce says, lips smudged with red, and Victoria‘s heart seems like it could burst into a million little pieces, explode like the fireworks soaring high over their heads.
„Happy New Year,“ she says, too, giving Joyce‘s small warm hand a squeeze. Barely a second in and she‘s already happier than she‘d ever dreamed she could be.
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